The Goodbye Gang

The Goodbye Gang

Goodbyes have been the subject of many stories, movies, plays and songs, and probably even operas (if I actually knew anything about opera), for many years. All of life is about meeting and leaving, along with all the complexity of life that goes on in between. Meetings and goodbyes come in lots of different varieties. First you’re alone and then you are with someone. That’s the essence of a meet. I always liked Eli Wallach in The Holiday saying to Kate Winslet that screenwriting involved using a “meet cute” to introduce the protagonists of a romance. We all understand exactly what that means because we all have experienced or known someone who met someone in an adorable way. It’s probably why everyone always asks a couple how they met. We like meet cutes. There are dramatic introductions, accidental meetings, and ordinary encounters. All sorts of emotions and circumstances can be involved in meetings that set up the body of the ensuing story. But goodbyes are partings and they are rarely anything other than sad. Together happy, apart sad. In between there is complexity that builds to some sort of conflict that needs to be resolved. That’s called a narrative arc. Goodbyes are not necessarily final, but they mostly come at the end of the narrative arc and are more simple than not. Here today, gone tomorrow. Simple, but sad.

We all left the Lodge at Red River Ranch mostly on the same morning, but not before lots of goodbyes. Goodbyes may be simple in their conclusiveness, but not so simple in their construction. We have known some of the A.F.M.C. gang since 1996 or before. I worked for Andy as early as 1979 (so, 42 years ago). I met Frank in perhaps 1992 or thereabouts. The rest of the gang joined on between the late 1990’s and then regularly into the 2000’s. There are three members of this crew from this year’s ride that I just met on this ride. We generally see the other A.F.M.C. Members two or maybe three times per year. When we see each other its like we are a band of brothers that have been through a war together. I’m not sure exactly what creates the intensity of the friendship, but it is palpable. Perhaps its the length of the friendships, perhaps its the length of trips (domestic tends to be 5 days, international is usually 10-14 days) or maybe its the high-risk nature of our activity. There are plenty of theories about relationships forged during intense crises, and it may just be that riding motorcycles for a week or two tick that intensity box. It reflects itself in the goodbyes.

At these gatherings, in the same way that people blow in like Mary Poppins from the four winds, they equally blow out the same way. One group headed to Park City, several to Phoenix, one to Steamboat Springs and we were headed to Las Vegas. Some were trailering, some were riding, some were driving and some had trailers but wanted to ride at least part of the way. We had planned to ride to Lake Las Vegas and then put the bikes in the trailer there since we were overnighting there again. But the weather did what it does at this time of the year in this area, it went sideways. It was a clear blue sky and plenty of sun and warmth at 5,000 feet of altitude or less, but the winds were gusting strongly across the prairie and through the canyons. Crosswinds on a motorcycle are decidedly tiring, if not dangerous. You always have to wrestle the handlebars more than non-riders realize. After getting to Panguitch (about 100 miles from the Ranch), we went up Rt. 143 to 148 to 14 up in what is called Cedar Breaks. It is a high wilderness area that reaches up to over 10,000 foot altitude. The temperature dropped to 50 degrees, so chilly that I put on my handlebar grip heaters on high. There was snow next to the road amongst the trees.

Cedar Breaks is a beautiful area to ride through, but the winds weren’t letting up either. When we got onto Rt. 15 heading south it was all wind and no beauty with the Virgin Valley Gorge staring us in the face. That gorge takes a normal wind and ratchets it up considerably due to the Venturi effect. Add a goodly portion of fast-moving trucks through that chicane and you have a treacherous track to ride if the wind is over 10 m.p.h.. I made a command decision that I thought would be a welcome relief to the others in our group; I pulled off at the Hurricane exit (what an appropriate name for the day’s weather) and pulled into the Texaco station there. I told Chris my plan to load the bikes into the trailer and he was most thankful of the decision. The womenfolk that were in the car, pulling the empty trailer were equally please by virtue of their worry for us wobbling down the windy road and pleased that someone else (me) would be driving a more weight-balanced trailer for the remaining two hours to Lake Las Vegas. It was a good call and was repeated by anyone riding out of the Ranch that day if they had a trailering option.

Because everyone leaves at different times and has different distances to travel, the group tends to start its goodbyes the night before. No one wants to miss saying goodbye to anyone and everyone is prepared to risk multiple goodbyes rather than missed goodbyes. Add to that the fact that the Pandemic that has prevented social close-order interaction has lifted enough to cause everyone to have an excuse to hug and kiss in a way that they have been unable to for fifteen months. If we were a group of 23, I bet we averaged 35 hugs per person during the extended evening and morning goodbye session. Trying to figure out when we might see one another again is a challenge. The truth is that the combination of Pandemic, aging-out and travel bans (most of our members are vaccinated, but not all) contributes to the uncertainty and therefore the passion of the embrace in the goodbye. Clearly when you don’t know when and if you might see someone you consider a good friend, you care more about how you conduct yourself in the goodbye moment.

At the same time, no one wants to acknowledge that they might never see one another again, so the goodbyes have a certain decorum that keeps them somewhat lighthearted while still being heartfelt. At college reunions, I have noticed that everyone is very excited to see everyone and get/give mutual updates. But then, as the two or three days drag on, there is less and less to talk about since you were all good friends 25,30,35,40, 45 or 50 years ago (this year is my 45th from business school). You often find that there is less in common with those folks than you recall. That doesn’t seem to happen with these motorcycle friends since we all met as adults and have matured as adults along side one another. I don’t know if that’s all accurate or not, but that’s the best explanation I can give in this context, knowing that the phenomenon is real enough.

So, I have momentarily nicknamed my M.C. as The Goodbye Gang and will only say that I expect that my goodbyes are no more dramatic than “until we meet again soon” as opposed to “goodbye forever”. Next stop for some of us will be Spain (the Pyrenees and Camino de Santiago) and the northern part of Portugal (Porto). I guess I am boycotting goodbyes for the time being.